


I Don't Care

by antichrist



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antichrist/pseuds/antichrist
Summary: All Steve knows for sure is that some of the frustration and anger that keeps building inside him leaves him whenever he pushes into French, and it takes a long time for those feelings to return. It feels good.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Literally wrote this because it was so sad that there was only one fic about them.

Steve would be hard pressed to say exactly how he keeps ending up in bed with French. He figures it has something to do with grief and finding solace, and using their pent up energy for something more productive than violence or self-destructive behaviour, but he can’t pinpoint the exact circumstances of how it started. He knows alcohol was involved, though, at least the first few times. That aside, all he knows for sure is that some of the frustration and anger that keeps building inside him leaves him whenever he pushes into French, and it takes a long time for those feelings to return. It feels good. He isn't too sure what this thing with French is supposed to be, exactly; there are some feelings he has yet to unpack and has maybe purposefully ignored so as not to complicate things for himself, and French certainly hasn't indicated anything. To make matters worse he’s still technically seeing Angie. He doesn’t know what that is anymore, either. He doesn’t know if French even knows or cares; whenever they’re together, they talk about OA, their friends, death, that kind of stuff, before they inevitably get to the fucking. They haven't even kissed, at least, not while sober. Steve might have asked French about it, but if he’s way off, that could earn him a punch in the jaw, and while he might be able to take French, he'd rather avoid that kind of confrontation if he can. Also, asking that sort of question means having to admit to himself that he wants something more from French than just physical relief, and he isn't sure he’s ready for that. 

At least he thought he wasn't, until the day he stops right before pushing into French, dick literally nudging against French’s asshole, and it finally comes tumbling out. “Why don't you ever want to look at me when we fuck?”

French seems to freeze in place at that before turning his head to look at Steve. “What?”

Steve feels himself flushing and curses his pale skin, certain he looks embarrassed, and tries to find the words to say next. “You just ... whenever we fuck you always go doggy style. We don't even ...” His voice trails off, and he grimaces, hating himself for what he’s about to say. “We don't even kiss. Ever.”

French looks lost for words. 

“Do - do you want me to turn around?” He sounds so sceptical, as if he’s reassessing this whole situation and is not happy with the results. Steve curses himself again. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? The arrangement is fine as it is, or as it was, more likely, because French is probably going to walk out and never come back after this. Just like all the others.

“Not if you don't fucking want to, Jesus, forget I said anything,” Steve mutters, a weak attempt at damage control, and finally pushes into French. French’s eyes slip closed and Steve feels him tremble under his hands. This, at least, he knows he’s good at. When he opens his eyes again and looks back, Steve looks away. 

He hears French draw a shaky breath. “Wait, wait, fuck, pull out,” he groans, and if Steve had thought it couldn’t get worse before, it just did. He stops. “Just pull out,” he says again when Steve hesitates, voice steadier this time, and he finally complies. He’s done it now, Steve thinks, driven French away completely, and he doesn’t even get to finish fucking before it all comes crashing down. Fucking great.

The instant he’s all the way out, though, French drops down and rolls over, putting one leg on either side of him. He looks so vulnerable like this, something Steve hadn’t anticipated, and there’s a sudden rush of emotions he doesn’t want to deal with now, if ever. 

“Is this okay?” It’s almost the volume of a whisper, and for a moment, Steve thinks he made it up, but then French spreads his legs a little, and reaches out to stroke his hip. As if on pure instinct, Steve slips an arm under French’s hips and lifts him just enough to push inside him again. He hasn't even said anything yet. He’s leaning over French now, their faces merely inches apart, breaths mingling, and he closes his eyes. Steve buries his face in the crook of French’s neck as he fucks into him. It’s slow, slower than it usually is with them, but he doesn’t think he could go much faster right now without coming in an embarrassingly short time, and he needs to last long. He hasn’t been supplying French with cocaine lately, but he knows it used to fuck with him before, made it hard for him to come, and Steve doesn’t know how long those aftereffects remain.

French’s legs and arms wrap around him as he thrusts again and again, faster now. They seem to stay like that for a small eternity, completely soundless except for quiet grunts, heavy breathing, and the steady, slick sound of their bodies sliding together.

Soon, there is heat building in the bottom of Steve’s spine and stomach, simmering and spreading throughout his body, into his limbs until even his fingertips seem to be burning with it. He doesn’t notice he’s sunk his teeth into the junction of French’s shoulder until French groans and tugs on his hair, too distracted by the strain in his hips and the heat enveloping his dick.

“Steve,” French murmurs, tugging at his hair again. Vaguely, Steve notices he’s moved his other hand to jerk himself off, and without thinking wraps his own around French’s. He finally raises his head. French’s mouth is open and his eyes are screwed shut, and Steve’s hips snap forward slightly more forcefully at the sight.

“I’m gonna come,” French gasps, and Steve almost lowers his head to his shoulder again, but French’s hand manoeuvres him until they’re kissing instead, a messy slide of lips and tongue. He comes then, pushed over the edge by the added intimacy, and seconds after feels French’s hole clenching erratically around him and liquid dripping down his fingers.

He keeps thrusting weakly for a few more seconds, unable to still his hips quite yet, but soon lowers himself down, dick slipping out in the same movement. French’s legs, still loosely wrapped around him, twitch at that.

He wonders if he may have fallen asleep for a little bit, because when he comes to, French is gently petting the back of his head and neck, dragging his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

“What am I, a fucking dog?” It’s meant to come out sarcastically, but conveying tone through a muffled murmur turns out to be quite difficult. He feels rather than hears French laugh underneath him.

“Might as well be, the way you were rutting,” he teases, and Steve can’t help but grin into his clavicle.

“You’re an asshole.”

French only hums in response.

They’re quiet for a while. If he didn’t know better, Steve would swear he could feel French’s heart beating a little harder than it should be. Apparently, however, he didn’t know better, because suddenly French is speaking again.

“What is this to you?” He sounds tentative, and it prompts Steve to raise his head, even though he’d much rather never move from French’s chest.

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

French looks exasperated, and the hand still on Steve’s head comes to a halt. “I mean,” he continues, voice no less hesitant, maybe even a little shaky, “is this just fucking to you? Or …” There’s a pause as French appears to choose his next words. “Or is it, like, a thing?”

For a second, Steve can only look at him. Then he laughs, face once again landing in the junction of French’s neck and shoulder. “A thing?” He’s borderline giggling now. “I thought you were the articulate one, here. What, you mean like a relationship?” He’s still laughing, phrasing everything as a joke because there’s no way this can be headed where it sounds like it’s headed.

“Yeah,” French replies. “Like a relationship.” He sounds so serious and Steve’s laughter dies immediately. Oh.

“I – did you – do you want it to be a relationship?” Now it’s his turn to sound hesitant, not because he doesn’t, but precisely because he is just realising that that is exactly what he wants, and he’s terrified of what the answer will be. French still hasn’t loosened his hold on him, though, and that must count for something.

French chuckles, but Steve can tell it’s not because he actually finds this funny. “I guess I do, yeah.”

It’s as if the air has completely left his lungs all at once. Shakily, he draws a deep breath. “Is this – am I your boyfriend now?”

“Do you wanna be?”

Steve doesn’t know whether to kiss or slap him. “I’d have thought that was pretty fucking obvious by now, yeah!”

French genuinely looks surprised. “Oh! Okay. I didn’t expect it to be that easy.”

There’s silence for a good three minutes before Steve speaks again. “Are you going to stay?” he mutters, curling into French’s side. He feels French nod above him.

“Yeah, if you want me to.”

He doesn’t reply to that, but he does roll off French and pull the condom off his now soft dick, tying it up and tossing it somewhere for them to deal with tomorrow, and then reaches back to pull one of French’s arms over him.

“There’s come on me,” French warns, but Steve doesn’t care.

“I don’t care,” he says, eyes slipping shut. He’ll deal with that, and all the other stuff, like Angie, tomorrow. Or whenever.

**Author's Note:**

> French probably hasn't been using cocaine enough for it to affect his ability to orgasm outside of when he's using, but I don't imagine Steve knows the specifics of cocaine dick, just that it happens. Personally I'm sure his dick works fine as long as he's not high.  
> Oh, and Steve is totally the little spoon. Boy needs emotional support and protection.


End file.
